


a helping hand

by ballerinaroy



Series: romione drabbles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, F/M, Teen Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballerinaroy/pseuds/ballerinaroy
Summary: In which Ron admits he knows what Hermione smells like.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: romione drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870747
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	a helping hand

“Would you stop that?” Hermione snapped.

It had been over a quarter of an hour since Ron had returned from his post-quidditch shower and ever since he’d joined her, hair sopping wet, he had been a flurry of movement, so much so that Hermione found herself unable to concentrate on the absolutely _fascinating_ book she’d been reading about the Goblin’s Rebellion of 1816.

“Sorry,” Ron said sheepishly, crossing his arms at once and hiding them from her view.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concerned even through her clipped tone sounded more exasperated than worried. She really needed to work on that.

Ron, clearly embarrassed, took a beat to finally show her, turning his arms out. The swirling scars, normally white and dormant, were bright red, standing out against the freckles and arm hair. Hermione’s heart froze at that moment. They hadn’t looked so angry in ages, not since their discharge from the hospital wing last term.

“They itch,” Ron explained, glancing around the room as if the other quietly studying friends might overhear and make fun of him.

“It looks painful,” Hermione said, finally managing the appropriate sympathetic tone. She reached out, running one gentle finger down one on the arm closest to her. “Are they always like that? Maybe we should go and see Madame Pomfrey, what if-!”

“They just get like this sometimes, after practice,” Ron said, crossing his arms again to hide them from view. “Really, it’s nothing to be worried about.”

But Hermione didn’t like not being worried. She withdrew the hand that had been touching him just seconds before. “Would some lotion help?”

Ron shrugged, “I suppose.”

Hermione fished through her bag and found the tube of hand cream her mother had continued sending her with every care package. It wasn’t that she was particularly fond of the scent, in fact, it seemed rather girly, but she had always thought it kind of her mother to be thinking of her. Brushing the thought aside she tossed it to him.

“Summer’s breeze?” he frowned at the bottle. “Really Hermione? You want me smelling like a _summer’s breeze_? What does that even mean?”

“You’re insufferable,” she said, snatching the tube back and twisting it open. “It’s just a scent, in five minutes you won’t even notice.”

“Like hell I won’t,” he frowned, presenting his arms to her never the less. He sniffed the air as she squeezed, none too gently so a fat glob landed on her hand. “Now I’ll smell like you until I shower again.”

“Are you saying I smell bad?” she challenged, slapping the lotion covered palm onto his skin. She sniffed the air too, just to make sure that the fragrance wasn’t awful and she’d just been missing it.

“No, Hermione of course I’m not saying you smell bad.” Ron defended himself hotly. “I just don’t want to be smelling like a girl.

“Go around sniffing other boys do you?” Hermione asked, rubbing it up and down his arms.

Up close she could see the scars were raised, swirling up and down his forearms and biceps, disappearing under the thin t-shirt that looked two sizes too small. It was a favorite of his, a souvenir from Charlie’s gap year. She could remember when, in their first year, it had swallowed him whole.

“What?” Ron asked, “No, of course not. Why would I go smelling other blokes?”

“But you know what I smell like?”

“Well of course,” said Ron as if it were obvious. “You smell nice.”

Diffused, her cheeks suddenly warm, Hermione merely allowed a smile to cross her face, fingers still running carefully over the inflamed skin. It didn’t seem to be hurting him, the itch marks from where he’d been scratching going down in size as she worked on.

“Better?” she asked, realizing that it had been several minutes since they’d said anything.

Hermione glanced up and Ron had a strange look on his face as he nodded at her. “Yeah, mind doing the other?”

Without thinking Hermione nodded and stood, moving to his other side and sitting on the arm of his chair she drew the arm onto her lap.

Curious, Hermione started at the center of the most prominent scar and began tracing it. Ron hissed and, terrified she had hurt him, Hermione made to withdraw her hand only to find Ron's other hand had shot out and pressed her fingers into his skin.

“Not that direction,” he gasped out and Hermione nodded, understanding at once.

He let go of her fingers and she started again, this time at the crook of his elbow, moving very slowly from the end of the scar and around and around until she found the center.

“Like that?” she asked when she’d finished, unable to look up at him, heat radiating from her face.

“Yeah,” Ron answered, “like that.”

His voice sounded strange, deep. It sent one of those strange sensations through her that only he was able to inspire. She squeezed the tube once more and set about spreading it out, finding where his scars began and traveling all the way to their centers. The common room around them had gone strangely silent, the world muted as she worked, the harsh red relaxing under her touch.

Long after she should have finished she looked up and found Ron’s eyes were dark, matching the voice she’d heard. They stared at one another silently, his arm still in her lap. Suddenly she very much wanted that hand to pull at her knee, urge her to slide into his lap. Even though they were as close as they’d ever been she wanted to be closer. She wondered what it might feel like to be held in his arms, what the crook of his neck might smell like.

“Hermione,” he breathed, breaking her from her reprieve. He nodded down at his arm withdrawing it from her lap. “Thanks. It feels a lot— a lot better.”

“Right,” she stammered. “No problem.”

He stood looking very guilty, the expression that she knew meant he was trying to hide something for her. She considered asking what it might be but Ron was already waddling away from her, back stiff. His arm twitched and suddenly was in front of his face, sniffing the lotion again. The notion made her racing heart flutter.

It was only at the archway to the boys' dormitory that he glanced over his shoulder, eyes boring into hers.

“Thanks, Hermione.” 

It was some time before she even thought to return to her chair.

**Author's Note:**

> This was conceived for Romione Ficlet Fest but I couldn't stop writing so here's the full thing. 
> 
> Also, I keep saying that I'm done spamming with stories and then I find more.


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